England... MI6... so old-fashioned!

Skyfall
(2012)

There is much to enjoy in Sam Mendes’ 50^th anniversary Bond film, but it’s some way off being the pinnacle of the series suggested in some quarters. There’s a feeling at times that it’s trying too hard to be a spot-the-reference anniversary movie in the same way Die Another Day was, only with the benefit of a better director and one foot in the realism of previous Craig outings.

The attempts to do the more trad-Bond thing, notably with the reintroduction of iconic characters, a larger than life crippled villain (commendably unseen until at least the midpoint of the film) and liberal doses of humour, have mixed results. Pretty much every jokey line Craig delivers falls flat, and it would have been better not to try to remould him as a catch-all for the various personas of Bond throughout the years. There is a tangible déjà vu in having a beaten up, ageing character who has gone off the map (see Brosnan in his last two outings; as an aside is age the excuse for why Craig runs so oddly, as if has a couple of bags of walnuts straining to escape from his pants? Or, perhaps that is actually the reason) and I felt I’d seen it all before with the M plotline (she makes hard choices you know, but don’t we all just love her for it).

The attempts to overtly stress the relevance of the field agent in the current age have been going on since Goldeneye, and this is reinforced by establishing the main tool of the villain as cyber-terrorism, an altogether passé plot device (Live Free and Die Hard, for example). Even the graphics used by Silva when he hacks MI6 computers were the sort of thing you’d expect 10 or more ago years. And so it continues; Q is a computer whizz played by Ben Wishaw doing his best Matt Smith impression. Wishaw has a distinctive screen presence, and there’s a strong rapport between him and Craig, but the dialogue between them is laboured, trying hard to be witty and falling flat. By straining to be up-to-date, the writers only show how behind-the-times and middle-aged they are.

As with Wishaw, many of the problems with the script are masked, or at least diluted, by strong casting choices on Mendes' part. Naomi Harris is so winning that you question why she doesn’t remain a field agent, and then realise that it’s because this is about moving the pieces into a certain position rather than following through with the characters. Ralph Fiennes’ Mallory steals every scene he’s in, and makes you think he’d have been a great choice as Bond 15 years ago. Rory Kinnear is also note-perfect as Tanner.

As for Javier Bardem, he’s a lot of fun and has a couple of solid speeches, although (a symptom of the bloated running time) the writers run out of interesting things to do with him once his plan is revealed (the nature of which is unfortunately very reminiscent of this year’s Avengers).

Judi Dench has been given progressively bigger chunks of storyline since she took on M duties, disproportionate to the importance of her character and reflective purely of having Oscar-winning Actress Judi Dench dribbling prestige all over a blockbuster franchise. She has such prestige she can say, “Fuck” in a Bond film and not cause a fuss! There’s little place for her character to go other than being the (self-) righteous ballbuster, so the series has fallen into a pattern (since The World Is Not Enough) of putting her in peril and then requiring Bond to rescue her, a pensionable damsel in distress (Quantum of Solace went to the lengths of having her show up on location just to harangue him with the usual circular badinage; you’ve got Dench, so maximum screen time means maximum quality Bond). Skyfall goes one step further, such that the entire plot revolves around M; she is now more important than world domination to Bond’s uber-villains. She’s officially become what Bond is all about, such that our stiff upper-lipped (or stubbled-lip in Craig’s case, the sloppy bugger) spy becomes all moist-eyed in her presence. Remember the halcyon days of Bernard Lee?

Compared to Quantum of Solace the action is fantastic, but it doesn’t get anywhere near to Casino Royale for edge of the seat thrills and viscerality (in general, the film can’t compete with Craig’s first). Mendes is clearly more comfortable with one-on-one action beats than vehicles and machines crunching into one another. Generally the spatial geography in these sequences is coherent, which is not only a blessing but essential after the last outing's incoherent shakycam. I particularly enjoyed the William Tell-esque scene with antique pistols, Silva’s assassination attempt on M and the delightfully arty Hong Kong fight shot in silhouette. In contrast, a sequence where Bond pursues Silva reaches its climax with 007 experiencing an onslaught of special effects. In order for this to happen he has to decide not to take a clear shot, listen to Silva tell him how he’s not yet beaten, and then not move while said special effect careers towards him. Perhaps the excuse is he’s getting old.

While I don’t wish to labour the point, the vulnerable action man was done before with (in particular) The World is Not Enough, and it was no more compelling a character beat first time around. In that instance, it whiffed of star power attempting to surgically implant depth on a one-note persona that previously held such notions in contempt (his marriage excepted). Here, it translates as just another example of a film series lacking in self-confidence looking nervously over its shoulder. See how that Dark Knight introduces realism into the superhero genre with Bruce Wayne's progressively more deleterious scars and ailments? Bond can have some of that! Mostly it’s just window dressing. Occasionally it gets in the way of the story. No one wants to see a Bond who can’t shoot straight. The broader concern is that, 17 years on from Goldeneye, there’s still unease about how best to present this icon. Which results in artificial elements being grafted on. The series had prior form for this (Live and Let Die, Moonraker) but it was invariably in the surrounding tissue of the story, rather than assaulting Bond himself.

A slight digression, but I wondered whether the prominent Heineken product placement was serving its intended purpose. Bond only drinks it when he's slumming it and has given up the "good" fight. Possibly it's not on a Blue Velvet level of negative associations, but neither does it translate as a ringing endorsement (certainly not $45 million-worth of ringing endorsement).

Roger Deakins’ cinematography is sumptuous throughout, although the Hong Kong sequence is definitely the stand-out. Likewise, Thomas Newman’s score is by turns inventive and traditional in all the right places. It’s both lush and muscular, and I’m quite willing to admit I didn’t have high expectations given the lack of action movies (or even thrillers) in his back catalogue.

The climax in the Highlands is a set piece too far, particularly with the MacGyver preparations Bond makes for his showdown, and the cornball character that poor Albert Finney is subjected to (I’m sure he was well-paid, however). It’s a tribute to Mendes work that the seams aren’t too gaping until you reflect on them, but there are a number of occasions where the relentless self-referencing of the history of the franchise runs the risk of the film Jumping the (CGI Komodo) Dragon.

Post-Quantum of Solace’s disappointment, I was in favour of the reintroduction of more trad-Bond elements but now, with all the pieces lined up for the next outing, I’m unconvinced it was the right move for Craig. He doesn’t have the lightness of touch to work in the more playful arena of “bells and whistles” Bond, and on the occasions when Skyfall attempts it, there’s a sense that the film is pulling in opposite directions. A scene of bitchy banter between Bond and M over how uncomfortable his Aston Martin is strains so hard to be humorous that you can’t wait to get back to some shooting. Roger Moore wouldn’t have needed to utter a line to make it work, and it’s an example of the makers of the series needing to recognise that Bond has different limitations in different incarnations.

What’s so bad about being small? You’re not going to be small forever.

Innerspace (1987) There’s no doubt that Innerspace is a flawed movie. Joe Dante finds himself pulling in different directions, his instincts for comic subversion tempered by the need to play the romance plot straight. He tacitly acknowledges this on the DVD commentary for the film, where he notes Pauline Kael’s criticism that he was attempting to make a mainstream movie; and he was. But, as ever with Dante, it never quite turns out that way. Whereas his kids’ movies treat their protagonists earnestly, this doesn’t come so naturally with adults. I’m a bona fide devotee of Innerspace , but I can’t help but be conscious of its problems. For the most part Dante papers over the cracks; the movie hits certain keynotes of standard Hollywood prescription scripting. But his sensibility inevitably suffuses it. That, and human cartoon Martin Short (an ideal “leading man” for the director) ensure what is, at first glance just another “ Steven Spielberg Presents ” sci-fi/fantas

The Illumi-what-i?

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022) (SPOILERS) In which Sam Raimi proves that he can stand proudly with the best – or worst – of them as a good little foot soldier of the woke apocalypse. You’d expect the wilfully anarchic – and Republican – Raimi to choke on the woke, but instead, he’s sucked it up, grinned and bore it. Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is so slavishly a production-line Marvel movie, both in plotting and character, and in nu-Feige progressive sensibilities, there was no chance of Sam staggering out from beneath its suffocating demands with anything more than a few scraps of stylistic flourish intact.

This risotto is shmackin’, dude.

Stranger Things Season 4: Part I (SPOILERS) I haven’t had cause, or the urge, to revisit earlier seasons of Stranger Things , but I’m fairly certain my (relatively) positive takes on the first two sequel seasons would adjust down somewhat if I did (a Soviet base under Hawkins? DUMB soft disclosure or not, it’s pretty dumb). In my Season Three review, I called the show “ Netflix’s best-packaged junk food. It knows not to outstay its welcome, doesn’t cause bloat and is disposable in mostly good ways ” I fairly certain the Duffer’s weren’t reading, but it’s as if they decided, as a rebuke, that bloat was the only way to go for Season Four. Hence episodes approaching (or exceeding) twice the standard length. So while the other points – that it wouldn’t stray from its cosy identity and seasons tend to merge in the memory – hold fast, you can feel the ambition of an expansive canvas faltering at the hurdle of Stranger Things ’ essential, curated, nostalgia-appeal inconsequentiality.

Whacking. I'm hell at whacking.

Witness (1985) (SPOILERS) Witness saw the advent of a relatively brief period – just over half a decade –during which Harrison Ford was willing to use his star power in an attempt to branch out. The results were mixed, and abruptly concluded when his typically too late to go where Daniel Day Lewis, Dustin Hoffman and Robert De Niro had gone before (with at bare minimum Oscar-nominated results) – but not “ full retard ” – ended in derision with Regarding Henry . He retreated to the world of Tom Clancy, and it’s the point where his cachet began to crumble. There had always been a stolid quality beneath even his more colourful characters, but now it came to the fore. You can see something of that as John Book in Witness – despite his sole Oscar nom, it might be one of Ford’s least interesting performances of the 80s – but it scarcely matters, or that the screenplay (which won) is by turns nostalgic, reactionary, wistful and formulaic, as director Peter Weir, in his Hollywood debu

Is this supposed to be me? It’s grotesque.

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (2022) (SPOILERS) I didn’t hold out much hope for The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent being more than moderately tolerable. Not so much because its relatively untested director and his co-writer are mostly known in the TV sphere (and not so much for anything anyone is raving about). Although, it has to be admitted, the finished movie flourishes a degree of digital flatness typical of small-screen productions (it’s fine, but nothing more). Rather, due to the already over-tapped meta-strain of celebs showing they’re good sports about themselves. When Spike Jonze did it with John Malkovich, it was weird and different. By the time we had JCVD , not so much. And both of them are pre-dated by Arnie in Last Action Hero (“ You brought me nothing but pain ” he is told by Jack Slater). Plus, it isn’t as if Tom Gormican and Kevin Etten have much in the way of an angle on Nic; the movie’s basically there to glorify “him”, give or take a few foibles, do

Are you telling me that I should take my daughter to a witch doctor?

The Exorcist (1973) (SPOILERS) Vast swathes have been written on The Exorcist , duly reflective of its cultural impact. In a significant respect, it’s the first blockbuster – forget Jaws – and also the first of a new kind of special-effects movie. It provoked controversy across all levels of the socio-political spectrum, for explicit content and religious content, both hailed and denounced for the same. William Friedkin, director of William Peter Blatty’s screenplay based on Blatty’s 1971 novel, would have us believe The Exorcist is “ a film about the mystery of faith ”, but it’s evidently much more – and less – than that. There’s a strong argument to be made that movies having the kind of seismic shock on the landscape this one did aren’t simply designed to provoke rumination (or exultation); they’re there to profoundly influence society, even if largely by osmosis, and when one looks at this picture’s architects, such an assessment only gains in credibility.

That, my lad, was a dragon.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013) (SPOILERS) It’s alarming how quickly Peter Jackson sabotaged all the goodwill he amassed in the wake of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. A guy who started out directing deliciously deranged homemade horror movies ended up taking home the Oscar for a fantasy movie, of all genres. And then he blew it. He went from a filmmaker whose naysayers were the exception to one whose remaining cheerleaders are considered slightly maladjusted. The Desolation of Smaug recovers some of the territory Jackson has lost over the last decade, but he may be too far-gone to ever regain his crown. Perhaps in years to come The Lord of the Rings trilogy will be seen as an aberration in his filmography. There’s a cartoonishness to the gleeful, twisted anarchy on display in his earlierr work that may be more attuned to the less verimilitudinous aspects of King Kong and The Hobbit s. The exceptions are his female-centric character dramas, Heavenly Creat

Gizmo caca!

Gremlins (1984) I didn’t get to see Gremlins at the cinema. I wanted to, as I had worked myself into a state of great anticipation. There was a six-month gap between its (unseasonal) US release and arrival in the UK, so I had plenty of time to devour clips of cute Gizmo on Film ’84 (the only reason ever to catch Barry Norman was a tantalising glimpse of a much awaited movie, rather than his drab, colourless, reviews) and Gremlins trading cards that came with bubble gum attached (or was it the other way round?). But Gremlins ’ immediate fate for many an eager youngster in Britain was sealed when, after much deliberation, the BBFC granted it a 15 certificate. I had just turned 12, and at that time an attempt to sneak in to see it wouldn’t even have crossed my mind. I’d just have to wait for the video. I didn’t realise it then (because I didn’t know who he was as a filmmaker), but Joe Dante’s irrepressible anarchic wit would have a far stronger effect on me than the un

Twenty dwarves took turns doing handstands on the carpet.

Bugsy (1991) (SPOILERS) Bugsy is very much a Warren Beatty vanity project (aren’t they all, even the ones that don’t seem that way on the surface?), to the extent of his playing a title character a decade and a half younger than him. As such, it makes sense that producer Warren’s choice of director wouldn’t be inclined to overshadow star Warren, but the effect is to end up with a movie that, for all its considerable merits (including a script from James Toback chock full of incident), never really feels quite focussed, that it’s destined to lead anywhere, even if we know where it’s going.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… dyin’ time’s here!

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) Time was kind to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome . As in, it was such a long time since I’d seen the “final chapter” of the trilogy, it had dwindled in my memory to the status of an “alright but not great” sequel. I’d half-expected to have positive things to say along the lines of it being misunderstood, or being able to see what it was trying for but perhaps failing to quite achieve. Instead, I re-discovered a massive turkey that is really a Mad Max movie in name only (appropriately, since Max was an afterthought). This is the kind of picture fans of beloved series tend to loathe; when a favourite character returns but without the qualities or tone that made them adored in the first place (see Indiana Jones in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull , or John McClane in the last two Die Hard s). Thunderdome stinks even more than the methane fuelling Bartertown. I hadn’t been aware of the origins of Thunderdome until recently, mainly because I was

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

Search This Blog